LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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Hollinger Corp. 
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DISCOURSE 



DELIVERED BEFORE 



THE SOCIETY OF THE ALUMNI 



OF 



HARVARD UNIVERSITY, 



AT 



THEIR FIRST ANNIVERSARY, AUGUST 23, 1842, 



BEING THE CLOSE OF 



THE SECOND CENTURY AFTER THE FIRST CLASS WAS GRADUATED. 



By JOSEPH STORY, LL. D. 



PUBLISHED AT THE REaUEST X)F THE SOCIETY. 



BOSTON: 
CHARLES C. LITTLE AND JAMES BROWN. 

1842. 



r 






^'^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1842, by 

Metcalf, Keith, and Nichols, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



CAMBRIDGE: 

METCALF, KEITH, AND NICHOLS, 

PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 



HEW VORK PUBL. LXB«. 



■ 



DISCOURSE. 



Gentlemen, 

There are few occasionsj on which we could have been 
assembled, which would awaken more varied feelings, or 
possess a more profound interest, than that, which now brings 
us together. We stand here at the distance of two hundred 
years, upon the very spot, where stood the first class, having 
completed their academical course, ready to receive the ear- 
liest honors of this our parent University. From the pious 
lips of the first President, whose remains lie in the neigh- 
bouring churchyard, they received their farewell benediction, 
— in the presence of the venerable founders of the colony, — 
amidst the deep shades of the surrounding forests, — and un- 
der the roof of the simple edifice, first reared to God and the 
Church in this stranger land. Few, indeed, were they in 
number, but not faint or faltering in the support of religion 
and learning. The little Band of Nine may well be presumed 
upon that occasion to have sought utterance of their own 
thoughts in the very language of the Governor of the Colony 
(a short time afterwards) in his appeal to the General Court 
for aid to the College. " If this work of the College be 
thought fit to be upheld and continued, as we hope, that con- 
siderations of the glory of God, the honorable interest of the 
country, the good of all posterity, and the experience of the 
benefits and blessings thereof, will constrain all men to say, 
it is, then something must efi'ectually be done for help in the 
premises." And that something (said these youths) must be 
done by us, that we may establish the foundations, and per- 
petuate the fame, of this Institution. — We are the first-born, 



and will not dishonor our parentage. Wherever our lots in 
life may be cast, to this blessed spot will we turn with a holy 
reverence. For the prosperity of this college shall our daily 
prayers ascend. Here shall our last thoughts repose. And 
whatever of earthly honors shall belong to us, to this altar 
shall they be brought, as the first-fruits of grateful children to 
the best of mothers. Worthily, indeed, were these vows per- 
formed. They went forth into the world with undaunted 
zeal to the great work, and became eminent in the church and 
the state. Their mouldering relics have, indeed, long since 
shared the common fate, and returned to the dust. But their 
good deeds still survive in the memories of good men, and 
shed a mild and balmy light over the annals of the past, as 
well as over the honors of the present days. 

And We too, are assembled here, — for the first time, — on 
an occasion equally worthy of commemoration, and full of 
responsible duties. We meet to celebrate the first anniver- 
sary of the society of all the Alumni of Harvard. We meet 
without any distinction of sect or party, or of rank or profes- 
sion, in church or in state, in literature or in science. We 
meet, as a band of brothers, educated in the bosom of the 
same indulgent parent, and drinking from the same fountain, 
which has from the beginning poured forth its pure and 
sparkling streams of knowledge to give life and glory to our 
land. Our fellowship is designed to be, — as it should be, — 
of the most liberal and comprehensive character, conceived 
in the spirit of catholic benevolence, asking no creed but the 
love of letters, seeking no end, but the encouragement of 
learning, and imposing no conditions, which may lead to 
jealousy or ambitious strife. In short, we meet for peace 
and for union ; to devote one day in the year to academical 
intercourse and the amenities of scholars. We would shake 
off from our feet the dust, gathered, not only in the by-ways 
and highways of life, but in the fervid race for public distinc- 
tion. We would lay aside for the hour, the garlands and the 
palms, and* the emblems of victory. Viridesque Cor ones, et 
PalmcB pretium victoribus. 



We would enter this temple with hearts overflowing with 
grateful recollections of the past, and earnest hopes of the 
future. We would lay upon this family altar our tribute of 
affection, and celebrate with our whole hearts the birthday 
of our matriculation. Salve, — magna Parens, — magna 
Virum^. 

Under such circumstances I am but too conscious of my 
own inability to perform the duties assigned to me in a man- 
ner, suited to the dignity of the occasion. It would have been 
far more grateful to me, that the task should, according to your 
first choice, have been executed by your venerable President, 
whose ripe scholarship, and rare endowments, and intellectual 
energy, have so long attracted the public admiration. He 
seems, indeed, to form the connecting link between the pres- 
ent and the past, standing, as it were, upon the verge of that 
dim twilight of life, where the twinkling stars, in our cata- 
logue, alternately appear, and vanish, as the shades of the 
evening shut down upon the passing generations. Sic itur 
ad Astra. 

I am conscious, also, in whose presence I stand, and whose 
instructed judgments I am called upon to address. I see 
before me the veterans, who, having won the laurels of their 
day, seek now in retirement to enjoy the dignity and repose of 
learned leisure. I see before me those, who occupy the high 
ranks of professional life. The venerable ministers of the 
Gospel, whose critical spirit has illumined the dark passages 
of Scripture, and given new vigor to the sublime truths of 
religion. I see the professors of the medical art, whose gen- 
ius has curiously studied the maladies of our race, and whose 
skill has administered succour to thousands, who were ready 
to perish. I see the jurists, who, in the judgment-seat, or at 
the bar, have applied their profound knowledge to the support 
of the civil institutions of society, to the protection of inno- 
cence, to the fearless vindication of right, and to the triumph 
of justice over popular clamor and political cabal. I see the 
statesmen, whose enlarged and comprehensive minds have 
maintained the glorious struggle for the support of the princi- 



pies of the Constitution, which may, if any thing human can, 
perpetuate the blessings of liberty, and save us from becoming 
a byword and reproach among the nations of the earth. 1 see 
the elegant and quiet scholars, who have given their days 
and nights to illustrate the annals of the past, or imparted a 
warm and sunny glow to the literature of the present. I see 
the ambitious youth, who, having completed their preparatory 
studies, stand at the starting-post of the course, impatient of 
delays, and panting for the toils and the rewards of the victo- 
ries of life The Olympic dust has not as yet even soiled their 
sandals. Nor can they as yet feel the force of that solemn 
admonition. " Let not him, that girdeth on his harness, boast 
himself, as he that putteth it off." 

It is, I repeat it, under such circumstances, that I feel with 
unaffected sensibility the difficulties of the task, which I have 
assumed. Amidst a crowd of topics, which rush upon the 
mind, I would fain select some one, not unworthy the inter- 
ests and associations of the occasion. After somie hesitation 
nothing has occurred to me more appropriate, than some sug- 
gestions on the dangers and difficulties and duties of scholars 
in our own age, and especially in our own country. 

If I were called upon to say, in one word, what constitutes 
the predominant danger of our day, I should say, that it is 
the tendency to ultraism of all sorts, and in all directions. In 
all ages there have probably been found among men of letters 
three distinct classes in opposition to each other. But never 
until our day have the lines of separation between them been 
so broad, and so sharply defined. These classes are, — The 
lovers of the past, — the devoted admirers of the present, — 
the enthusiastic prophets of the future. It is of course, that 
the world of letters, like the natural world, should appear un- 
der very different aspects and relations to each of these class- 
es. The antiquarian dwells with intense pleasure upon the 
olden times, as at once their historian and eulogist. He lives, 
as it were, among the dead, and esteems it his highest priv- 
ilege to remember the forgotten, and to chisel deeper the in- 
scriptions upon the tombs of the renowned. He gathers up 



the dilapidated fragments with a holy reverence, and finds in 
each of them the ruins of a lofty mind, more precious, because 
it is rescued from the remorseless hand of modern improve- 
ment, and speaks, in its broken language, the voice of depart- 
ed ages. On the other hand, the fond admirer of the passing 
literature of the day deems little else worthy of his notice, 
and contemplates former works, but as faded pictures, left to 
moulder on the walls, or at best, as serving to show the preju- 
dices, or follies, or defects of taste of bygone times. And, 
again, the man of ardent temperament, regardless of the known 
and the tangible, casts his keen glances through the obscuri- 
ties of the future, and prophesies the surpassing grandeur of 
the days to come, when new revelations of the human soul 
shall be unfolded, and new truths be proclaimed, which phi- 
losophy itself, in its boldest flights, has never yet dreamed of. 
He sees, that, after the lapse of nearly six thousand years, 
Man is but in the infancy of his being ; — that he has learned 
little, which might not as well be forgotten ; — that the lights, 
which have hitherto guided him, are not from heaven, but false 
and delusive phantoms, which have led him astray ; — that he 
has yet to learn how to live, as well as how to die ; — and 
that this instruction is to be sought, not in the meditations 
and writings of the great minds of other ages, but in the 
depths and communings of his own spirit. 

Now, I say, that these three classes of opinions, which, 
to some extent, have probably prevailed in all the epochs of 
literature, have acquired an unnatural impulse and acceleration 
in our day, from the vast powers of a free press, and the con- 
centrated influences of a wide-spread education. If this state 
of things is to continue ; if these three classes of opinions are 
to flow on in separate, yet neighbouring channels ; if they are 
to divide and distract the public mind and conduct ; it is plain, 
that there is no small danger to the cause of solid learning, 
sound religion, and social institutions. Divide and conquer, 
is the cunning maxim of tyrants, in order to accomplish their 
nefarious purposes. But in the republic of letters the same 
rule must nourish factions at war with its safety and its ad- 



8 

vancement. If, for example, the human mind, (as we are 
sometimes proudly informed,) has never yet grappled with the 
great truths belonging to its character and destiny ; if neither 
history, nor experience, nor philosophy, have hitherto even 
reached the vestibule of those inquiries, which are to guide 
us in the business of life, — in the affairs of government, — 
in the principles of public policy, — in the developement of 
national interests and resources, — in the foundations of morals 
and religion, — or (passing from these to less grave topics) if 
genius has never yet affixed the true value or importance to 
any of its own achievements in art, or science, or learning j 
and the mastery of its powers, as well as its means of excel- 
lence, are yet to be searched out, as unknown quantities ; — 
then, indeed, as it seems to me, man has lived in vain, and 
disquieted himself in. vain. We can give no pledges of suc- 
cess in our present efforts, which former ages have not given. 
We can offer no securities, which may not hereafter crumble 
away, like the fabrics, which they reared only to perish, or 
left, as monumental ruins, to instruct us in the meanness of 
the end, compared with the magnitude of the labor. 

Considerations not less discouraging must arise, if either of 
the other two extremes of opinion are to possess an enduring 
influence. The truth is, that the past is not every thing ; nor 
the future every thing ; nor the present every thing. The 
intellect of man is now neither in its infancy, nor in its de- 
crepitude. Human knowledge, — whether it be for ornament 
or use, — for pleasure or instruction, — is the accumulation of 
the wisdom and genius of all ages, and is, like the ocean, com- 
posed of contributions from infinitely various sources, whose 
currents have mingled together from the beginning, and must 
continue so to do to the end of time. Sound the depths, as 
you may, they will be found not entirely the same, nor entire- 
ly different. The shoals and the quicksands may be removed 
from one side ; but they have often only shifted to the other. 
The waters may have become more clear and transparent in 
some parts ; but at the same time more turbid, and shallow in 
others. The general level has not materially changed in 



height or the current in its breadth, although occasional tides 
may have ebbed and flowed with irregular and sometimes 
desolating power. In some places the alluvial deposits have 
buried the ancient landmarks ; while in others they have been 
worn away, or submerged. So, in some measure, has it been 
with the history of the human mind. What has been gained 
in one direction, has been almost simultaneously lost in anoth- 
er. The known of one age has become the obscure of the 
next, and the lost of the succeeding. The favorite pursuits 
and studies of one age have sunk into insignificance or neg- 
lect in another. The value, as well as the interest, of partic- 
ular researches has fluctuated with the passions, and the 
theories and the fashions of the day. And while each succes- 
sive generation has imagined itself to stand upon the shoulders 
of all, that preceded them, and flattered itself with the belief, 
that it surveyed all things with a more comprehensive power, 
and a less obstructed vision, it has forgotten, that on every 
side there is a natural boundary to the intellectual horizon, at 
which every object becomes obscure, or evanescent ; and that, 
just in proportion, as we advance in one direction, we may be 
receding from well-defined and fixed lines of light in the 
other. 

I have said, that the tendency in our day is to ultraism of 
all sorts. I am aware, that this suggestion may appear to 
some minds of an easy good-nature, or indolent confidence, to 
be overwrought, or too highly colored. But unless we choose 
voluntarily to blind ourselves to what is passing before our 
eyes in the daily intercourse of life, it seems to me impossible 
not to feel, that there is much, which demands severe scruti- 
ny, if not serious alarm. I meddle not here with the bold, and 
yet familiar speculations upon government, and polity, upon 
the fundamental changes and even abolition of constitutions, 
or upon the fluctuating innovations of ordinary legislation. 
These might, of themselves, furnish out exciting themes for 
public discussion, if this were a fit occasion to introduce them. 
I speak rather of the interests of letters, — of the common 
cause of learning, — of the deep and abiding principles of 

2 



1 



10 

philosophy. Is it not painfully true, that the spirit of the age 
has broken loose from the strong ties, which have hitherto 
bound society together by the mutual cohesions and attrac- 
tions of habits, manners, institutions, morals, and literature ? 
It seems to me, that what is old is no longer a matter of rev- 
erence or affection. What is established, is not on that account 
esteemed positively correct, or even salutary or useful. What 
have hitherto been deemed fundamental truths in the wide 
range of human experience and moral reasoning, are no longer 
admitted as axioms, or even as starting-points, but at most are 
propounded only as problems, worthy of solution. They are 
questioned, and scrutinized, and required to be submitted to 
jealous proofs. They have not even conceded to them the 
ordinary prerogative of being presumed to be true, until the 
contrary is clearly shown. In short, there seems to me, at 
least, to be abroad a general skepticism, — a restless spirit of 
innovation and change, — a fretful desire to provoke discus- 
sions of all sorts, under the pretext of free inquiry, or of com- 
prehensive liberalism. And this movement is to be found not 
merely among illiterate and vain pretenders, but among minds 
of the highest order, which are capable of giving fearful im- 
pulses to public opinion. We seem to be borne on the tide of 
experiment with a rash and impetuous speed, confident, that 
there is no risk in our course, and heedless, that it may make 
shipwreck of our best hopes, and spread desolation and ruin 
on every side, as well on its ebb, as its flow. The main 
ground, therefore, for apprehension is not from undue rever- 
ence for antiquity, so much as it is from dreamy expectations 
of unbounded future intellexjtuad progress ; and, above all, from 
our gross over-valuation and inordinate exaggeration of the 
peculiar advantages and excellences of our own age over all 
others. This last is, so to say, our besetting sin ; and we 
worship the idol, carved by the cunning of our own hands, 
with a fond and parental devotion. To this cause, I think, 
may be chiefly attributed that bold, not to say reckless spirit 
of speculation, which has of late years spread itself with such 
an uncompromising zeal over our whole country. It is not 



11 

indigenous to our soil ; nor does it belong to the sober sagaci- 
ty and patient judgment of the Anglo-Saxon race. There 
are many even among the educated classes, and far more 
among the uneducated, who imagine, that we see now, as men 
never saw before, in extent, as well as in clearness of vision ; 
that we reason, as men never reasoned before ; that we have 
reached depths and made discoveries, not merely in ab- 
stract and physical science, but in the ascertainment of the 
moral and intellectual powers of man, and the true structure 
and interests of government and society, v/hich throw into 
comparative insignificance the attainments of past ages. We 
seem to ourselves to be emerging (as it were) from the dark- 
ness of bygone centuries, — whose glow-worm lights " show 
the matin to be near, and 'gin to pale their ineffectual fires," 
before our advancing radiance. We are almost ready to per- 
suade ourselves, that their experience is of little value to us ; 
that the change of circumstances is so great, that what was 
wisdom once, is no longer such ; that it served well enough 
for the day ; but that it ought not now to be an object of de- 
sire, or even of commendation. 

Nay, the comparison is sometimes eagerly pressed of our 
achievements in literature with those of former ages. Our 
histories are said to be more philosophical, more searching, 
more exact, more elaborate than theirs. Our poetry is said to 
surpass theirs in brilliancy, imaginativeness, tenderness, ele- 
gance, and variety, and not to be behind theirs even in sub- 
limity, or terrific grandear. It is more thoughtful, more natu- 
ral, more suggestive, more concentrated, and more thrilling 
than theirs. Our philosophy is not, like theirs, harsh, or 
crabbed, or irregular; but wrought out in harmonious and 
well-defined proportions. Our metaphysical systems and 
mental speculations are, (as we flatter ourselves,) to endure 
for ever, not merely as monuments of our faith, but of truth, 
while the old systems must fall into ruins, or merely furnish 
materials to reconstruct the new, — as the temples of the 
gods of ancient Rome serve but to trick out or ornament the 
modern churches of the Eternal City. Ay, — and it may 



12 

be so. But, who will pause, and gaze on the latter, when 
his eyes can fasten on the gigantic forms of the Coliseum, or 
the Pantheon, or the Column of Trajan, or the Arch of Con- 
stantino ? "It was among the ruins of the Capitol," (said the 
historian of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,) 
" that I first conceived the idea of a work, which has amused 
and exercised near twenty years of my life, and which, 
however inadequate to my own wishes, I finally deliver to 
the curiosity and candor of the public." Among the ruins of 
the Capitol ! He felt, indeed, that history was philosophy, 
teaching by example. He was willing to devote a whole 
life to the study of the dead, that he might learn, how to 
instruct posterity in their dangers and their duties. 

May I not stop for a moment, and ask if there is not much 
delusion and error in this notion of our superiority over 
former ages ; and if there be, whether it may not be fatal to 
our just progress in literature, as well as to the permanent 
interests of society ? I would not ask those, who entertain 
such opinions, to accompany me back to the days of Aristotle 
and Cicero, whose works on the subject of government and 
politics alone have scarcely received any essential addition 
in principles or practical wisdom down to this very hour. 
Who, of all the great names of the past, have possessed so 
profound an influence and so wide an authority for so long a 
period ? If time be the arbiter of poetical excellence, whose 
fame is so secure as that of Homer and Virgil ? Whose his- 
tories may hope to outlive those of Thucydides and Tacitus ? 
But I would limit myself to a far narrower space, to the 
period of the two centuries, which have elapsed since our 
ancestors emigrated to America. Survey the generations, 
which have since passed away, and let us ask ourselves, what 
have been their literary labors and scientific attainments ? 
What the productions of their genius and learning ? What 
the amount, which they have contributed, to ameliorate the 
condition of mankind, — to lay deep and broad the founda- 
tions of Theology and Jurisprudence and Medicine, — to es- 
tablish and illustrate the principles of free governments and 



13 

international law, — and to instruct, as well as amuse, the 
leisure, and to refine the taste of social life ? Unless I greatly 
mistake, a calm survey of this whole matter would convince 
every well-balanced mind, that, if we may claim something 
for ourselves, we must yield much to the scholars of those 
days. We shall find, that much of our own fruits have been 
grafted on the ancient stocks. That much of what we now 
admire is not destined for immortality. That much, which 
we deem new, is but an ill-disguised plunder from the old 
repositories. And, that much, which we vaunt to be true, 
consists of old fallacies, often refuted and forgotten, or of 
unripe theories, which must perish by the wayside, or be 
choked by other weeds of a kindred growth. 

The truth is, that no single generation of men can accom- 
plish much of itself or for itself, which does not essentially 
rest upon what has been done before. Whatever may be the 
extent or variety of its labors, and attainments, much of 
them will fail to reach posterity, and much, which reaches 
them, will be felt, not as a distinct formation, but only as 
component ingredients of the general mass of knowledge. 
Many of the immortals of one age cease to be such in the 
next, which succeeds it ; and, at best, after a fitful season of 
renown, they quietly pass away, and sleep well in the com- 
mon cemetery of the departed. What is present is apt to be 
dazzling and imposing, and to assume a vast importance over 
the distant and the obscure. The mind in its perspective 
becomes affected by the like laws as those of the natural 
vision. The shrub in the foreground overtops the oak, that 
has numbered its centuries. The hill under our eye looms 
higher than the snowy Alps, which skirt the edge of the 
horizon. 

But let us subject this matter to a little closer scrutiny, and 
see, if the annals of the two last centuries alone do not suffi- 
ciently admonish us of the mutability of human fame, as well 
as of that of human pursuits. What a vast amount of intel- 
lectual power has been expended during that period, which 
is now dimly seen, or entirely forgotten. The very names of 



14 

many authors have perished, and the titles of their works are 
to be gathered only from the dusty pages of some obscure 
catalogue. What reason can we have to suppose, that much 
of our own labors will not share a kindred fate ? — But, turn- 
ing to another and brighter part of the picture, where the 
mellowing hand of time has touched with its finest tints the 
varying figures. Who are there to be seen, but Shakspeare, 
and Milton, and Bacon, and Locke, and Newton, and Cud- 
worth and Taylor and Barrow, not to speak of a host of 
others, whose works ought to be profoundly studied, and 
should illustrate every library. I put it to ourselves to say, 
who are the men of this generation, to be brought into com- 
parison with these, in the extent and variety of their labors, 
the powers of their genius, or the depth of their researches ? 
Who of ourselves can hope to exercise an influence over the 
human mind as wide-spread as theirs ? Who can hope to do 
more for science, for philosophy, for literature, for theology, 
than they ? I put the argument to our modesty, whether we 
can dispense with the products of their genius, and wisdom 
and learning ; or may cast aside their works, as mere play- 
things for idlers, or curiosities for collectors of the antique ? 

I have but glanced at this subject. It would occupy a 
large discourse to unfold it in its various bearings and conse- 
quences. But the strong tendency of our times to disregard 
the lessons and the authority of the past must have any thing 
but a salutary efiect upon all the complicated interests of 
literary as well as social life. It not only loosens and dis- 
joints those institutions, which seem indispensable to our 
common happiness and security ; but it puts afloat all those 
principles, which constitute, as it were, the very axioms of 
all sound philosophy and literature. In no country on earth 
is the danger of such a tendency so pregnant with fearful 
results as in our own ; for it nurses a spirit of innovation and 
experiment and oscillation, which leaves no resting-place for 
sober meditation or permanent progress. It was the striking 
remark of an acute observer of the human mind, that ''He, 
who sets out with doubting, will find life finish, before he 



15 

becomes master of the rudiments ; " and that " He, who 
begins by presuming on his own sense, has ended his studies, 
as soon as he has commenced them." * 

But another danger in our age, and especially in our coun- 
try, of no small extent, although certainly of a subordinate 
character, is the vast predominance of the taste for light read- 
ing and amusing compositions over that for solid learning and 
severe and suggestive studies. This has been gradually upon 
the increase ever since the commencement of the present cen- 
tury, and has become not only the fashion, but I may say, the 
passion of the day. It has been fostered by, and in its turn 
it has administered to, our periodical literature, which, from 
small beginnings, has at length accumulated to such a mass, 
as threatens to overwhelm all the other departments of litera- 
ture and bury them under its avalanches. Novels and 
romances, and other exciting fictions, increase upon us with a 
fearful rapidity, and, in conjunction with periodicals, constitute 
the staple of nearly all the reading of the reading public. 
They are circulated in prodigious numbers through the cheap 
weekly and penny press. They are found with all the 
studied attractions and ornaments of letter press and engrav- 
ing upon the centre-tables of the refined and wealthy, piled 
up with a gay and varied profusion. They line the saloons 
of our hotels and boarding houses. They fly on our railroads, 
and swim in our steamboats, with a dazzling and almost dizzy 
activity. Not a passenger-ship crosses the Atlantic, which 
is not freighted with the wet sheets of the last weekly or 
monthly, or quarterly, or the last story of the Jameses and 
Blessingtons and Bulwers. And, thanks to our good stars, 
sometimes they bring also, for our refreshment and delight, 
the thrilling pathos, and touching humor, of that marvellous 
genius of all work, the author of the " Old Curiosity Shop." 

The consequence is, what might naturally be expected, 
that many of our best minds, and especially those, who pant 
for early distinction, devote all their thoughts and all their 
time to labors of this sort. They are seduced by the eager 

* Sir Joshua Reynolds, Discourses, p. 15. 



m 

appetite of the public for novelty, and the ready returns both 
of money and reputation, to abandon more serious and less 
attractive studies. They turn with indifference or disgust 
from topics, which require profound investigation or severe 
criticism. They become impatient of the slow progress to- 
wards excellence, and of the long and cold researches, which 
satisfied the desires of the men of other days, who were 
content to bide their time, and await the award of posterity. 
They seek not to build the lofty poetry, which shall speak 
to the hearts of a thousand generations. They meditate 
not those high enterprises in philosophy, in history, in the- 
ology, or in jurisprudence, which, when once accomplished, 
will live on and instruct mankind, when the spot, which 
covers the ashes of their authors, shall be forgotten or ob- 
literated from the records of time. They seek the ribands 
and the wreaths, and the shouts of applause of the passing 
crowd, and forget that they are not fame, — but, at best, 
mere glitter and show and sound. They come as shadows, 
and as such they will assuredly depart. The white foam of 
the combing billow dies away at the moment, when it breaks 
upon the shore. But the depths of the ocean remain undis- 
turbed and noiseless ; for they belong to the things of eter- 
nity. 

Who, that looks around him does not perceive, what a vast 
amount of the intellectual power and energy of our own 
country is expended, not to say exhausted, upon temporary 
and fugitive topics, — upon occasional addresses, — upon light 
and fantastic compositions, — upon manuals of education, and 
hand-books of instruction, — upon annotations and excerpts, 
and upon the busy and evanescent discussions of politics, 
which fret their hour upon the stage, or infest the halls of 
legislation. Need we be told, that honors thus acquired, melt 
away at the very moment, when we grasp them ; that some 
new wonder will soon usurp their place ; and, in its turn, will 
be chased away or dissolved by the next bubble or flying me- 
teor. I know, that it has sometimes been said, that '' Nothing 
popular can be frivolous ; and that what influences multitudes 



17 

must be of proportionate importance." * A more dangerous 
fallacy, lurking under the garb of philosophy, could scarcely 
be stated. There would be far more general truth in the 
statement of the very reverse proposition. We construct all 
sorts of machinery for the ready diffusion of science, and the 
circulation of philosophy. Our lecture rooms and lyceums 
are crowded, day after day, and night after night, with those, 
who seek instruction without labor, and demand improve- 
ment without effort. We have abundance of zeal and abun- 
dance of curiosity enlisted in the cause, with little aim at 
solid results or practical ends. It seems no longer necessary, 
in the view of many persons, for students to consume their 
midnight lamps in pale and patient researches, — or in com- 
muning with the master spirits of other days, — or in interro- 
gating the history of the past, — or in working out, with a 
hesitating progress, the great problems of human life. An 
attendance upon a few courses of lectures upon science, or 
art, or literature, amidst brilliant gas lights, or brilliant ex- 
periments, or brilliant discourses of accomplished rhetoricians, 
are deemed satisfactory substitutes for hard personal study, in 
all the general pursuits of life. Nay, the capital stock thus 
acquired may be again retailed out to less refined audiences, 
and give ready fame and profit to the second-hand adventurer. 
It is an old saying, that there is no royal road to learning ; 
and it is just as true now, as it was two thousand years ago. 
Knowledge, deep, thorough, accurate, must be sought, and 
can be found, only by strenuous labor, not for months, but for 
years ; not for years, but for a whole life. What lies on the 
surface is easily seen, and easily measured. What lies below 
is slowly reached, and must be cautiously examined. The 
best ore may often require to be sifted and purified. The 
diamond slowly receives its polish under the hands of the 
workman, and then only gives out its sparkling lights. The 
very marble, whose massy block is destined to immortalize 
some great name, reluctantly yields to the chisel ; and years 



* See Sir J. Mackintosh's Life, Vol. I. p. 131. 

3 



18 

must elapse before it becomes (as it were) instinct with life, 
and stands forth the breathing image of the original. To 
sketch the outlines of Hallam's noble Introduction to the 
History of Modern Literature, required studies so vast and 
various, that the libraries of all America would not at this 
very moment furnish the means of consulting, far less of 
mastering, the original authors. And yet we are apt to ima- 
gine, that few books need now be read in order to reach the 
depths of any art or science. 

The consciousness of this very state of public opinion can- 
not but operate as a discouragement upon sensitive minds, and 
weaken their ambition for the attainment of high excellence. 
But, above all, that, which, as I think, hangs with the dead- 
liest weight upon the literary enterprise of American authors, 
is (what has been already alluded to) the perpetual necessity 
of catering to the false taste and morbid appetite of the mass 
of readers for temporary excitement, or for indolent amuse- 
ment. How few, comparatively speaking, are found among 
our scholars, who devote their lives to the study of some great 
subject, with a view to embody their thoughts and acquire- 
ments, so that they may belong to the literature of future 
ages. How few are there, who can see, without dismay, the 
accumulation of materials around them, upon the mastery of 
which they are to found their own fame. How few can, with 
a calm and quiet consciousness of their own merit, see volume 
after volume fall from the press almost without notice or patron- 
age, and yet be content to wait, until the voice of praise reaches 
them from a distance, — from the closets of the learned, and 
the schools of the philosophers. Speaking of the first volume 
of his great History of England, Mr. Hume, with quiet mod- 
esty, remarked ; '' My bookseller told me, that in a twelve- 
month he sold only forty-five copies. I scarcely heard of one 
man in the three kingdoms, considerable for rank or letters, 
that could endure the book." But with the pride of a great 
mind, some years afterwards, he added ; '' I see many symp- 
toms of my literary reputation's breaking out at last with ad- 
ditional lustre." What a cheering, what an impressive ex- 
ample ! 



19 

\ I rejoice to say, that there are scholars in our country, who 

have avoided the beaten and dusty paths of every-day reputa- 
tion, and have been willing to labor, — unseen and unheeded, 
— for a more enduring distinction. And they have glorious- 
ly won the prize. There are historians, and biographers, and 
mathematicians, and painters, and sculptors, and poets, and 
divines, who have been content for years to live on hopes, 
nourished in their own bosoms, or whispered only by the gen- 
tle spirit of private friendship, while they have been toiling 
for immortality. Meanwhile the press has rung its merry 
peals throughout the continent, for the favorites of the day. 
And where are these favorites now ? They have perished, 
and their very names have died away, like the memory of an 
echo. There is a fine remark of Lord Bacon,^ that " He, 
that seeketh to be eminent among able men, hath a great 
task ; but that is ever good for the public. But he, that plots 
to be only the figure among cyphers, is the decay of a whole 
age." 

^' And then again another danger, following close in the train 
of that, which I have bQen considering, is the feverish ambi- 
tion for an artificial structure of style in all classes of compo- 
sition. We no longer relish the quiet, easy, and idiomatic 
tones of the olden literature. The flowing grace and simpli- 
city of Addison, — the terse yet transparent style of Swift, — 
the natural yet elegant diction of Goldsmith, — the playful 
humor, and colloquial familiarity of Lamb, mixed up with 
deep reflections, and occasionally sprinkled with quaint phra- 
seology, — these are no longer in the possession of the public 
favor. If they are not deemed dull, they are passed by with 
indifference. They are more often praised, than they are read. 
They hold, indeed, a certain conventional rank ; but it is more 
as a matter of courtesy to escape debate, than of sincere love 
of what is true or beautiful. We require a more intense and 
exciting style, — strong and animated language, — sudden 
and vivid contrasts, — abrupt changes, and unexpected turns 

* 2 Bacon's Works, p. 345. 



20 

of thought, — high colomig, and wild, and, (it may be,) start- 
ling figures of speech. And so that the story tells, and the 
narrative flies on, or the satire scorches, or the humor is broad- 
cast in its lights, we are quite content, that the composition 
should be any sort of mosaic work, — interlaid with scraps of 
poetry, or prose, — the classical or the new, — the quaint or 
the legendary, — the cant phrases of France or the mystical 
combinations of Germany. Everywhere we miss the raciness 
and richness of the Anglo-Saxon idiom, and even the ponder- 
ous vigor of the Roman roots forced into the native soil. To 
borrow the language of an eminent critic ; '' The grand de- 
fect is the want of repose, — too much and too ingenious re- 
flection, — too uniform an ardor of feeling. The understand- 
ing is fatigued ; the heart ceases to feel."* 

And this again nourishes that dangerous facility of writing, 
which is one of the most alluring temptations, and at the same 
time the most insidious foe of genius. He, who can throw 
ofl" in a few hours the brilliant passages of his own mind 
upon transitory or local topics, and become the artificer of the 
leading article of a review, or miscellany, or annual, that 
flowers, and flourishes, and fades within the year ; — He who 
puts forth his hasty pamphlet, upon the engrossing interest or 
stirring politics of the day ; — He earns his passing fame with 
an easy promptitude, and may circulate freely among the wits 
of the club, and the coteries of the drawing-room. He, who 
writes well enough to please, and pleases well enough to be 
paid, as well as to be read, is but too apt to forget, that nothing 
valuable is suddenly acquired ; that what is enduring must be 
costly, in time, in labor, in design, in intellectual eff'ort. The 
veriest tyro in colors can paint a picture with lights and 
shades and false brilliancies, which may attract and deceive 
the vulgar eye. The common sculptor may mould the hu- 
man features with a light and facile hand, or carve them into 
the cold rigidity of stone. But the great artists of ancient 
and modern times wrought not out so their mighty labors. 

* Mackintosh's Life, Vol. I. p. 407. 



i 



21 

The Apollo, the Venus, the Gladiator, the Guliano, and Loren- 
zo de Medicis, grew not thus under the chisel of the artists. 
The Madonna, the Last Supper, the Day of Judgment, sprung 
not from the dashing touches of the moment. Time may 
truly be said, with these great minds, to have been the parent 
of immortality. 

In close alliance with the foregoing will be found another 
and kindred danger to scholarship. If the public taste thus 
acts upon the studies and products of authors, and fashions 
their works for the market of the day, 

" If those, who live to please, must please to live," 

It is not less true, that it reacts upon readers with a reciprocal 
malign influence. Their time is equally wasted in the indul- 
gence of a varied and sometimes superficial round of reading, 
which vitiates, while it pampers the appetite. All is desulto- 
ry and miscellaneous ; crowded, and yet fleeting. The viands 
are dressed up in new forms and fantasies ; but still they are 
neither wholesome, nor satisfying. They cloy the taste with- 
out nourishing the soul. According to the temperament of 
the reader, his love of letters melts away under the soft sen- 
timentalism of fiction, or wearies itself in drowsy indolence, 
or exhausts itself in private meditations, or rises into mystical 
reveries, very uninteUigible, but not on that account less in- 
viting. 

It cannot admit of the slightest doubt, (at least in my judg- 
ment,) that the habit of desultory and miscellaneous reading, 
thus created, has a necessary tendency to enervate the mind, 
and to destroy all masculine thinking. Works of a solid 
cast, which require close attention and exact knowledge to 
grapple with them, are thrown aside, as dull and monotonous. 
We apologise to ourselves for our neglect of them, that they 
are to be taken up at a more convenient season ; or we flatter 
ourselves, that we have sufficiently mastered their contents 
and merits from the last review, although in many cases it 
may admit of some doubt, whether the critic hims.elf has ever 
read the work. Without stopping to inquire, how many of 



the whole class of literary readers now study with thoughtful 
diligence, the standard writers in our own language, and are 
not content with abridgments, or manuals, or extracts ; I 
would put it to those, who are engaged in the learned profes- 
sions, and have the most stringent motives for deep, thorough, 
and exact knowledge, I would put it to them to say, how 
many of their v/hole number devote themselves to the study 
of the great masters of their own profession. How many of 
them can, in the sober language of truth, say; We are at home 
in the pages of our profoundest authors, — We not only pos- 
sess them to enrich our libraries, but we devote ourselves to 
the daily consultation of them. They are beside us at our 
firesides, and they cheer our evening studies. We live and 
breathe in the midst of their laborious researches and syste- 
matical learning. 

If the seductive influences of this habit of desultory and 
miscellaneous reading and indulgence in general literature, 
were confined to persons of unbroken leisure, or indolent 
temperament, or moderate ambition, the evil would be far less 
felt, and the example far less mischievous. But it is apt to 
draw within its grasp the proudest spirits of the age. Many 
of the latter have the same insatiable appetite, if I may so 
say, for universal reading, — the same love of change, — the 
same eager search after novelty, which belong to the gay and 
the frivolous in their light pursuits. They amass vast treas- 
ures of knowledge, but use them, far less for composition, 
than for conversation ; far less as materials, out of which 
they are to create works, destined for future ages, than as 
means for brilliant sallies in colloquial discourse, or for sunny 
disquisitions upon moral philosophy, or for picturesque sketch- 
es, or for off-hand contributions to the forthcoming periodical. 
They have learned well the lesson of Lord Bacon, that 
" Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. 
Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring ; for 
ornament is in discourse ; and for ability is in the judgment 
and disposition of business." * But they have forgotten the 

* Bacon's Essays. Essay 50, Vol. II. of his Works, p. 373. 



23 

noble admonition of the same great mind, that '' Wise men 
use their studies ; and that there is a wisdom without them, 
and above them, won by observation. That they read, not to 
contradict or confute, nor to find talk and discourse ; but to 
weigh and consider." * 

There is, indeed, and for a considerable length of time, has 
been, a strong temptation to scholars to establish reputation by 
bringing their resources into full play in conversation among 
the higher circles of social life ; and in our own times it has 
acquired a powerful impulse and acceleration among the afflu- 
ent in learning and the elevated in genius. Dr. Johnson 
seems almost for the first time to have given it an attractive 
character by his own example and gigantic powers, both in 
reading and thinking. The glorious circle of great minds, 
who clustered around him, Reynolds, and Burke and Gold- 
smith and Jones and Scott, and the gay v/its of London, who 
listened with a just homage to his controversial dogmas, and 
untiring flow of thought, made it a fashionable object of am- 
bition to become great in conversation. It may well be doubt- 
ed, whether, even Doctor Johnson, owing to this seductive in- 
fluence, ever accomplished any thing commensurate with the 
powers of his understanding, or the variety of his knowledge. 
With the exception of his Dictionary (a work of vast labor, if 
not of critical skill) his best writings belong almost to the very 
close of his life ; and if Boswell had not recorded his conver- 
sations with a graphical fidelity and fulness, which makes 
them the very familiars of our household, the fame of that 
great man, after a life of seventy-five years, would mainly 
rest upon two poems, in imitation of Juvenal, and upon his 
Lives of the Poets, which, with the exception of some half doz- 
en Lives, wrought out with marvellous felicity and vigor, were 
but common task-work for the booksellers. I might mention 
Doctor Parr as another singular example of vast erudition, su- 
perior in this respect even to Johnson, and in general acquire- 
ments quite his equal, who has rendered himself famous for 

* Bacon's Essays. Essay 50, Vol. II. of his Works, p. 373. 



24 

having exhausted his long life mainly upon a Spital sermon, 
and an edition of Bellendenus, neither of which is now read ; 
and yet if he had loved reading and conversation less, and 
composition more, he might have stood in classical and other 
literature among the foremost of his age. He lives now, 
rather by the bright sayings, preserved by his biographers, and 
by his private letters, than by any literary achievement, wor- 
thy of remembrance. 

But, for an example still more instructive, and far more in- 
teresting and affecting, let us turn to one of the most philo- 
sophical and polished scholars of our own day, I mean Sir 
James Mackintosh, whose genius has illuminated, whatever it 
has touched, and touched almost every department of litera- 
ture. Whoever has read the memoirs of that excellent man, 
written with an unassuming elegance, and a just filial rever- 
ence, by an accomplished scholar, must have risen from the 
perusal with mixed emotions of profound respect and profound 
melancholy. What do we here see, but a mind of the bright- 
est order and most varied attainments, perpetually struggling 
with its own infirmity of purpose, — amassing, nay, devour- 
ing, all sorts of learning, with an eager and discriminating at- 
tention, sketching the outlines of the plan of some great work, 
and resolving at some future time to execute it, — rebuk- 
ing its own delays, and yet persisting in the same course, — 
and at last, departing from the world, in a good old age, with- 
out having achieved any one of the loftier purposes, at which 
it aimed. Everywhere about us are the mighty fragments of 
his genius, like the mutilated Torso, exhibiting, in its broken 
proportions, the exquisite skill of the artist. His Introductory 
Lecture on the Law of Nations, the most magnificent discourse 
in our own, or, perhaps, in any other language, is but a finish- 
ed portico for the vestibule of a temple, destined never to be 
erected. And, again, his Historical Dissertation upon the 
Progress of Ethical Science, which it is impossible to read 
without kindling into enthusiasm, leaves us, with its bright 
but rapid lights, just on the threshold of the very inquiries, to 
which it points our way. And then, again, his contributions 



25 

to the History of England seem but interludes between the 
acts and epochs of that great drama, where the curtain drops, 
just when the principal actors are about to play their parts on 
that grand theatre of human life. What can be more melan- 
choly, or more full of regrets, than the contemplation of such 
a mind, so comprehensive in learning, so elevated in virtues, 
which has thus passed away, leaving so many admirable en- 
terprises unaccomplished, and so many plans for immortality 
unfulfilled. 

It may be said, that all this is the result of peculiar temper- 
ament. I think far otherwise ; it is the natural result of the 
seductive influences, of which I have spoken, and of the pro- 
fuse expenditure of intellectual power upon ends and aims, 
incompatible with enduring excellence, which is so much fos- 
tered by the spirit of our age. How difficult must it be to 
resist the temptations to universal reading, and the fascinations 
of colloquial discourse, when they win instant praise, and cir- 
culate freely to the very boundaries of the literary world. 
For one, who, with a stout heart, and determined persever- 
ance, could resist them, and die, like Sir Walter Scott, with 
his pen in his hand, there are hundreds, who would surrender 
themselves the willing, or the reluctant, victims to their influ- 
ence, and resolve and re-resolve, and yet close their lives in 
the midst of hopes deferred, and expectations blasted, and pro- 
jects abandoned. 

I have thus far spoken of some of the existing dangers to 
the permanent interests of learning and literature ; and in so 
doing I have anticipated much, which belongs to the consid- 
eration of the discouragements and difficulties of scholars in 
our day. Many other admonitory and interesting reflections 
might, however, be added upon the latter topic ; but I shall 
content myself with a few suggestions only, addressed partly 
to our own peculiar national position, and partly to general 
causes at work throughout the world. One, indeed, which 
must strike even the most careless observer is the vast accu- 
mulation, in every department of knowledge, of new materials, 
which are to be mastered, in comparison with the old stock. 

4 



26 

The brief but pungent apothegm, that life is short, and art is 
long, could never come home to the bosoms and business of 
scholars with more significance than in the present age. 
Hitherto, the task of completing the round of studies for a well- 
disciplined mind in any one department, seemed to lie within 
a comparatively moderate compass. But the mass has now 
increased to an almost overwhelming size, (to use the lan- 
guage of Sir Henry Spelman,) Molem non ingentem solum, 
sed perpetuis humeris sustinendam. In some sciences whole 
branches have sprung into being within the last fifty years, 
while others have received such vast additions, that the old 
foundations have been buried under the substructions of the 
new. The learned professions have received a like augmen- 
tation of principles and materials. Five hundred volumes 
would, a half century ago, have been deemed sufficient for all 
the ordinary exigencies of study, where five thousand volumes 
would now scarcely meet the daily demands, for consulta- 
tion or instruction. Medicine has changed, not merely its 
systems and theories, and its formularies, but, through the in- 
strumentality of chemistry, it has created a new materia msd- 
ica, and a new nomenclature. Anatomy, and surgery, and 
physiological research, have elevated into science, what seem- 
ed before but a humbler department of art. Theology, in its 
dogmatical, exegetical, and critical inquiries, has made our 
libraries groan under the weight and variety of its contribu- 
tions. In former times the ablest divines might content 
themselves with a few solid bodies of divinity, the best 
sermons of the old school, and some helps to criticism and 
exposition, in the shape of common-place books or concordan- 
ces, illustrated by the standard guides in Ecclesiastical Histo- 
ry. How changed is all this now ! Jurisprudence has un- 
folded its stores with an equal profusion ; and it is scarcely 
too much to say, that it is now practically impossible to read 
all, that is published ; and the task of selection alone has 
become at once perilous and indispensable. In the mean time, 
the inquisitive and skeptical spirit of the age makes the duty 
of instruction, as well as that of the exposition and vindica- 



27 

tion of doctrines, full of labor and difficulty. Especially is 
this true in theology and the higher branches of philosophy. 
Here, the scholar must give a life of patient diligence to the 
task ; and will find, that if he is read by many, he will be 
praised by few. His very learning may make his labors re- 
pulsive ; and the very depth of his researches may discourage 
his faltering followers. His deficiencies will be studiously 
proclaimed, while the profounder results of his analysis are 
unheeded. Here, he will ofi'end the prejudices of the day by 
a bold and fearless criticism, and there, he will encounter a 
dogma, which staggers his faith, or brings into question his 
prudence, or his judgment. If he appeals to posterity, he 
may, indeed, reap a just, though distant reward, when the 
passions and parties of the day shall have passed away. But, 
then, it may happen, that the appeal may never reach that 
tribunal ; or, if it should, the changes of fashions and feelings 
and opinions may make his claim a slender inheritance, even 
if it should be recognised and confirmed. Under such circum- 
stances, well may he be inclined to shun the toil of the enter- 
prise, and exclaim : Ostendunt hcec tantumfata, — neque ultra. 
Look for a moment upon the exhausting demands of the 
pulpit. Instead of listening to plain, calm, and practical ex- 
pository discourses, as in former times, we have now be- 
come fastidious and exacting critics. We require, every Sun- 
day, the exhibitions of varied talent, dressed up with all the 
polished elegance and refinement of an exquisite taste. We 
seek, I had almost said, we demand, one or more sermons to 
be produced every week, which would require the meditations 
of the most gifted mind for a whole month ; and of such a 
quality of excellence, that probably no single mind, in the 
history of the profession, ever produced twelve of them in any 
one year. This is not all. The discourses must be wrought 
out with somewhat of dramatic power and eff'ect. They 
must be eloquent, as well as instructive ; pointed, as well as 
true ; vivid, as well as thoughtful. They must win by their 
persuasive approaches, even more than they strike by their 
masculine reasoning. They may, indeed, reprove vice with a 



28 

bold and fearless confidence, if it shocks by its grossness or 
revolting character. They may unmask hypocrisy, and de- 
nounce error, in good round terms. But they must deal gent- 
ly with frailties, which are broadcast, and ''just hint a fault 
or hesitate dislike," if it be a favorite folly of the day, which 
fashion has consecrated, and public opinion tolerates. Now, I 
think, that I do not exaggerate the difficulties and discourage- 
ments of the profession in our day, when I say, that the de- 
mands upon the preacher for ready compositions, and parochial 
duties, make it almost impracticable for him to attain eminence 
in biblical criticism, and disable him from writing v/orks, 
which will be enduring monuments of his learning and abili- 
ty, when he shall be gathered to his fathers. 

Look again upon the scholar, who seeks eminence in clas- 
sical studies. What a vast apparatus is now required to enable 
him to grapple with the intricacies of Grecian and Roman lit- 
erature, its criticism, and its historical illustrations, or even 
the niceties of the grammatical structure of the language. It 
is a startling fact, that many a ripe scholar, even in patient 
and inquisitive and laborious Germany, will tell you, that 
there is not time, in any one life, to learn well more than 
a single language ; that if one devotes himself to Greek, 
Latin is out of the question ; and, that the study of a whole 
life may well be dedicated to the mastery of a single classical 
author, and even then, that much will be left untouched, or 
unexplained. Nay, Roman jurisprudence, which, after the 
criticisms of three centuries, seemed to have arrived at a fixed 
point in its expositions and principles, has now become sud- 
denly changed in its aspects, and some of its elements have 
been displaced by the learned labors of living jurists, aided by 
the discovery of the Institutes of Gains. And, as if ancient 
history itself were not secure against the inroads of modern 
speculation and industry, we are now told, that the historians 
of Rome totally mistook many of the facts, which they under- 
took to narrate from earlier traditions; and that we, in the nine- 
teenth century, can, by more profound researches, correct errors 
and explain transactions, which, for eighteen hundred years, 



29 

were unquestioned, or were deemed irretrievably lost. It was 
not many years ago, that some of us were almost startled out 
of our proprieties by the doubt, whether any such person as 
Homer ever existed ; and Niebuhr has so shaken the public 
confidence in the ancient historians, that a widespread alarm 
has infected our belief in the credibility of their chronicles. 

Nor is the task of the instructor, or of the disciple, in intel- 
lectual or moral philosophy less formidable. If he could 
unfold the various systems of metaphysics, or of ethics, 
where is he to begin, or rather, where is he to end, his re- 
searches ? His descent into the depths, and his ascent from 
them, are not among the facile operations of the human mind 
in our day. 

" In the lowest deep a lower deep, 
Still threatening to devour him, opens wide." * 

If he has read half of what has been already written on 
these subjects, he has achieved a most gigantic enterprise. 
But if he would subdue the whole to his own purposes, and 
take but a moderate survey of the stores of scholastic logic 
and philosophy, deposited on the slumbering shelves of the 
public libraries of both continents, human life would not be 
long enough to complete his task. Here, at least, we must 
be content, not only, as Lord Bacon says, to read by deputy, 
but to think by deputy. 

These are difficulties, which beset all scholars in our times 
from the profusion, and, as it were, from the very inundations, 
of learning. There are others, again, which press upon 
American scholars with peculiar force. Two opposite bands 
of disciplined troops break in upon our academical pursuits, 
as well as our literary repose, and threaten a protracted, if not 
a successful, warfare. They are embodied on one side under 
the leaders of what is called the Utilitarian System of know- 
ledge, and on the other, under the clamorous advocates for an 
American literature, indigenous, exclusive, and national. Upon 
the former topic I do not purpose to touch. Upon the latter 

* See Milton's Paradise Lost, B. 4, 1. 76. 



\-^ 



30 

I would say a few words, as it constitutes the staple of so 
many of our public addresses, and ambitious essays. What 
do we mean by a National Literature ? Do we mean by 
it a literature fostered and cultivated by American authors, 
addressing themselves to themes common to the world of 
letters ? Or, do we mean by it a literature, which deals 
altogether in local topics, and busies itself only with institu- 
tions, and manners, and feelings, and discussions, peculiar to 
ourselves ? If the former, it would be an idle waste of time 
to discuss the subject. The cultivation of literature in any 
country must essentially depend upon general causes, which 
rarely admit of much acceleration or retardation in their pro- 
gress. An enduring literature must almost necessarily be of 
slow growth. It cannot be raised in the hot-beds of patron- 
age or of power alone. It must spring up spontaneously, and 
be congenial to the soil. It can acquire excellence only, when 
the process of ripening is in a healthy air and a robust cli- 
mate. It presupposes the existence of a large class of edu- 
cated men, beyond what the steady demands of civil, political, 
and professional life require, for the advancement of the gen- 
eral interests of the society. It presupposes, that the rewards 
of other employments are not more certain and more tempt- 
ing ; more inviting from their relative facility of being reach- 
ed ; or more sure of conducting the aspirants to the repose 
and dignity of independence. It presupposes general wealth 
enough in the community to afford leisure to a large class of 
scholars to devote themselves to the highest pursuits of ambi- 
tion, and the attainment of an imperishable fame ; so that 
they may be content to wait for distant results. It presup- 
poses, that it will afford a competent livelihood, to repay the 
exhausting labors of authorship, — for painful days, and wake- 
ful nights, which move heavily on in the midst of secret and 
solitary studies, and indifference, and ill-health, and poverty. 
Until these things exist, — - nay, until they in a great measure 
coexist, and act and react simultaneously upon each other, it 
is in vain to call for national literature and national authors. 
There must be patronage, liberal, constant, and comprehen- 



31 

sive, as well as genius and talent, in the land. The public 
must be ready to reward authors, as well as to praise them ; 
— to protect, as well as to read, their works; — to encourage 
the domestic manufacture by giving it a reciprocal market 
abroad. Until this period shall arrive, it will be in vain to 
ask, or even to hope for a solid advancement in national 
literature. There may be, and there will be, occasional 
bursts of literary talent ; but they will be irregular and tran- 
sitory. There may be, and there will be, here and there, an 
author of exquisite elegance, or profound research ; but for 
the most part, the lights will be flickering and faint, and do 
little more than skirt our horizon. 

But if we mean by a national literature the other alterna- 
tive before alluded to, a literature devoted to local thoughts, 
objects, interests, habits, and feelings, which shall stand out, 
like our lakes and rivers and waterfalls, with a sort of terri- 
torial magnificence or sovereignty (as is but too often the 
suggestion of national pride) ; then it might be worth while 
to consider, whether it were desirable, if attainable ; or if 
attained, whether it would not sink us down to the level of 
a provincial dependency, rather than elevate us to the rank 
of equals in the republic of letters. It is true, that the vanity 
of possessing the home market might lead us to address noth- 
ing to foreign minds, or to foreign sympathies ; that we 
might clothe ourselves with the common fabrics and cos- 
tumes, manufactured to the order and fashion of the day, 
without dreaming, that they might possess neither grace nor 
dignity, and would be rejected by the taste, as well as be 
unsuited "to the good sense, of other ages. To the great 
author seeking for permanent fame, may be addressed the 
same language, which has been addressed to the great painter. 
" He must divest himself of all prejudices in favor of his age 
or country ; he must disregard all local and temporary orna- 
ments ; and look only to those general habits, which are 
everywhere, and always the same. He addresses his works 
to the people of every country and every age ; he calls upon 



S2 

posterity to be his spectators ; and says, with Zeuxis, * In 
(Bternitatem pingo.^ " * 

Nay, I will go farther, and venture to affirm, that no author 
of any nation has ever attained permanent celebrity, whose 
works have not in fact been addressed to sentiments, feelings, 
sympathies, and experiences, common to the human soul in all 
countries, and all ages. There may be found a few persons, 
whose works paint transactions, which are purely local, or 
transient, and who may thus enlist the curiosity of the diligent 
antiquarian ; but it is rather as specimens, than as models. 
The mass of authors in ancient, as well as in modern times, 
who are familiarly read, or extensively known, — are read and 
known, because their thoughts belong to all generations, and 
have inflamed the genius, and warmed the hearts of the 
instructed, as well as of the rude. The orators, the poets, 
the philosophers, and the historians of Greece and Rome are 
admired, not merely for the exquisite language, in which 
their works are clothed, but for the lessons of wisdom, which 
they teach ; for the truths, which they expound ; for the 
beautiful and sublime imagery, which they exhibit ; and for 
the large results of human passions and human actions, which 
they narrate or suggest. These are just as striking, and just 
as important and useful now, as they were thousands of years 
ago. The works of Aristotle and Cicero have probably fur- 
nished more materials for instruction upon all the topics, of 
which they treat, than those of any other authors, who have 
flourished before or since their times. There is not a single 
page of Sallust or Tacitus, even when professedly discussing 
motives, or recording events, which now seem almost evanes- 
cent points of history, which are not replete with sound phi- 
losophy, with profound reflection, with acute analysis, of 
character, manners, and government, and with principles of 
universal application, which deserve to be treasured up as 
among the most valuable benefactions to the human race. 
To no nation on earth are the truths there unfolded, and the 

* Sir Joshua Reynolds's Discourses, p. 59. 



33 

commentaries there condensed, of more importance than to our- 
selves. We may there see, how factions are engendered and 
how repubhcs are ruined. How men in free governments 
become base, and servile, and corrupt, as well as, how they 
must act, in order to maintain the strength, the glory, and the 
well-balanced liberty of the State. Who does not read the 
common fate of republics, when Sallust, with searching severi- 
ty, says ; " Uhi labor e atque justitia Respuhlica crevit, — scevire 
Fortuna, ac miscere omnia ccepit. Qui labor es, pericula^ 
dubias atque asp eras res facile toleraverunt, iis otium, di- 
viticB, optandcB aliis, oneri miserceque fuere. Igitur primo 
pecunicB, deinde Imperii CupidOj crevit ; ea quasi materies 
omnium, m^alorum fuere.''^* Who does not see in his brief, 
but startling sketch of Catiline, the profligate demagogue of 
every age and country, at once crafty, selfish, variable, bold, 
and ambitious. '' Anim>us audax^ subdolus, varius, cujuslibet 
rei simulator ac dissimulator, alieni appetens, sui profusus, 
ardens in cupiditatibus, satis eloquentice, sapientice pa- 
rum.^^ f Who does not see the fawning sycophants and base 
retainers, waiting upon power and patronage, who pursue 
its triumph and partake its gale, in a single passage of Taci- 
tus, of terrific grandeur, alluding to a period, when even fallen 
Rome yet aff"ected liberty. " At Romce mere in servitium, 
Consules, Patres, Eques, Quanto quis inlustrior, tanto 
magis falsi ac festinantes, vulto composito, ne Iceti excessu 
Principis, neu tristiores primordio, lacrimas, gaudium, quces- 
tus, adulatione miscebant.^^ X 

These great men wrote not to foster the pride, or the tastes, 
or the prejudices of their own country. They wrote not for 
Rome, but for the World ; not for their own age, but for all 
posterity. Sallust avows this to be his own motive ; con- 
scious (as he says) that virtuous fame alone is immortal. 
" Mihi rectius esse videtur, ingenii, quam virium opibus, 
gloriam queer ere, et quoniam vita ipsa, qua fruimur, brevis 



* Sallust. BelLCatil. § 10. f Ibid. § 6. 

\ Tacit. Annal. Lib. 1, cap. 7. 

5 

L. 3^0. 



34 

est, memoriam nostri^ quam maxume longam efficere. Nam 
divitiarum et formcB gloria fluxa atque fragilis ; virtus clara 
CBternaque hahetur.^^ * I have reserved (said Tacitus) a more 
fertile and secure subject for my old age, when, owing to the 
rare felicity of the times, you are at liberty to think what 
you please, and to speak what you think. " Uheriorem secu- 
rioremque materiam senectuti seposui, rara temporum felici- 
tate, ubi sentire quce velis, et quce sentias dicer e licet. ^^ f A fit 
lesson to be learned even in this favored land ; for, here, 
no mean courage is sometimes required, to speak what we 
think, when it strikes at some prevalent delusion ; or to ab- 
stain from flattering the prejudices of the people, when the 
truth might off'end them. 

But I need not refer to the ancients. All countries and 
all ages furnish the same illustrations. There is not (I repeat 
it) a great author, who has come down to us with literary 
celebrity, whose pages are not addressed to interests, affec- 
tions, and principles, common to all mankind. Tell me the 
author, who, since the revival of letters, has attained and 
still holds a settled eminence, in Italy, or Germany, or France, 
or England, whose writings are not felt to be the inheritance 
\ of the world ? His works may have a strong flavor of the soil, 
j where they were produced ; they may be tinctured with the 
colors of the age, in which they lived ; they may even be 
soiled and stained by its vices, or its follies, or its affecta- 
tions. But these blemishes and peculiarities are accidental 
and unfelt, and serve but to present in a broader light their 
intrinsic excellences, — as the blur in the diamond reveals its 
imperfections, without diminishing the vivid sparkles from its 
transparent surface. Who, for a moment, could imagine, that 
Dante, or Tasso, or Shakspeare, or Milton, or Locke, or 
Klopstock, or Goethe, or Schiller, or Racine, wrote solely for 
their own times and their own country ; and did not possess 
the proud consciousness, that they would be read by future 
generations in every nation, where letters should be cherished, 
however refined and however remote. '' My name and mem- 

* Sallust. Bell. Catil. § 1. f Tacit. Hist. Lib. 1. cap. 1. 



35 

ory," (was the affecting and melancholy language of Lord 
Bacon, in his last will), '^ My name and memory I leave to 
foreign nations, and to mine own countrymen, after some time 
be passed over." 

There could not, indeed, be a more dangerous delusion, 
than the attempt on the part of American authors to build up 
an exclusive national literature in the sense, to which I have 
last alluded. Our just ambition should be to make our litera- 
ture a component part of the literature of the world, for the 
use of all nations and all ages. Let it have the bold impress 
of American genius, and the masculine vigor, and the brave 
spirit of inquiry and expression, which fitly belong to a free 
government, and an unshackled press. But let it rise to the 
dignity and elevation of an appeal to the highest minds in 
their highest studies, wherever their nativity may be cast. 
Let it speak a universal language, and address passions, feel- 
ings, sympathies, and principles, which glow with equal 
fervor at the poles and at the equator. Let the thoughts be 
such, as may save the language itself from perishing. Let 
them live on, and bless, and improve mankind, and unfold 
to them their duty and their destiny, until the period shall 
arrive, when tyrants and barbarians shall consign all books to 
a common destruction, as an incumbrance upon anarchy or 
despotism. 

' And this leads me to say a few words, and but a few 
words, for 

" On our quickest decrees 
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
Steals, ere we can effect them," 

upon the duties of scholars in our day, and especially of 
American scholars. Much of what has been already said 
points its moral to this end and object. We have seen some 
of our dangers and difficulties. They may not be disguised, 
or concealed ; but they must be met and confronted with a 
firm confidence and steady perseverance. The time has 
come, when the study of the ancient classics, of the great 
writers of Greece and Rome, is required to be reasoned out 



m 

and vindicated anew. While it is advancing with a steady 
pace among a select class of minds, we cannot fail to see, that 
it is in a proportionate degree holding a less comprehensive 
influence with the community at large. The sympathies, as 
well as the attractions, of other pursuits, and the brilliant 
achievements of physical science, have cast it with the 
multitude into comparative obscurity. But a more sweeping 
and impetuous cause is the strong tendency of the day to 
popular education and popular schemes of instruction. Know- 
ledge, it is now thought, may be acquired with far less labor 
and in a more brief space. Compendious systems have suc- 
ceeded the tardy progress and rough discipline of former 
times. The youthful mind is now required to be crammed 
with all sorts of learning and science, at a period of life when 
it can scarcely digest any. We hurry on the work of educa- 
tion with an eager and crowded impatience, and seek to con- 
dense the labor of years into that of months. All things are 
to be taught at the same moment ; Dum fervet opus. And 
the appointed course once run over, the preparations of active 
life are deemed complete; the prizes of life are already with- 
in reach ; and superfluous study is dismissed, as equally with- 
out pleasure and without profit. 

It is for American scholars to rouse themselves for the 
coming events, which cast their shadows before. They 
must press upon the public attention, with a fearless spirit of 
expostulation, the utter folly of all such expectations ; they 
must proclaim the solemn fact, that facile methods of educa- 
tion are mere delusions, which cheat us out of our time, as 
well as impair the vigor of our understandings ; that they will 
make us at once superficial and conceited, and enervate with- 
out filling the mind. It has been eloquently said, that '' These 
noble studies preserve, and they alone can preserve, the un- 
broken chain of learning, which unites the most remote gen- 
erations ; the grand catholic communion of wisdom and wise 
men, throughout all ages and nations of the world."* 

* Life of Mackintosh, Vol. I. p. 119. 



37 

But a duty still higher, and more imperative, and urgent, is 
to stand forth as champions of truth, of sound morals, sound 
principles, and sound learning. It has been often suggested, 
as a matter of reproach, by foreigners, that our scholars and 
statesmen do not speak out to the public their real opin- 
ions. That they do not say, what they think, nor think, what 
they say. That our public harangues, and set pamphlets, and 
newspaper essays, are abundantly overlaid with flattery of 
vulgar errors, or popular delusions. That the people have per- 
petually trumpeted in their ears, the praise of their wisdom 
and virtue and intelligence, when it is apparent, that there is 
the most sincere distrust of them all, and often the belief, that 
we are on the downward path of ruin. In short, that the 
whole body of our passing literature, and the spirit of our public 
discussions, are moulded and fashioned to suit the ever vary- 
ing forms of the popular will, and thus bring discredit upon 
our judgments, as well as upon our sincerity. 

Admitting, that there is much of false and exaggerated 
statement in these suggestions, still there is truth enough at 
the bottom to challenge inquiry and demand reform. Has our 
literature in general a bold, healthy, solid, reflective, mascu- 
line character ? Does it possess a fearless spirit of expostula- 
tion, or reproof, and a lofty avowal of principles, suited to the 
exigencies of our times ? Does it tell the truth, the whole 
truth, and nothing but the truth, without fear, favor, aflection, 
or hope of reward ? Does it combat error, and expose folly, 
and resist visionary but captivating theories, by stirring ap- 
peals to the sober sense of the community, and the enlighten- 
ed judgments of the wise ? When the fundamental princi- 
ples of republics, nay, of all governments, are assailed with 
presumptuous rashness, and the rights of property, and the se- 
curities of constitutions are assailed and questioned, does our 
literature come out, and unmask the deceit, and vindicate the 
truth, or does it lie by, and with indolent ease sleep over the 
evils, or silently evade its duty by hoping for the best, or soft- 
ly whisper regrets, lest it should rouse opposition, or encoun- 
ter obloquy ? To these interrogatories let every scholar an- 



38 

swer for himself. But let him remember, that these are not 
times to blink at questions, or to push aside inquiries. Nt)t 
only is the schoolmaster abroad, but the skeptic is by his side, 
and the importunate reformer with his nostrums, and the en- 
thusiast with his idealities and abstractions. Christianity itself 
is called upon, on one side, to buckle on its armour, not to 
maintain the mere creeds and dogmas of a peculiar church or 
sect, but to establish its facts and its miracles, nay, the reality 
of the character, if not the personal existence, of the Founder 
of its hopes and its consolations. On another side. Protestant- 
ism is again required, at the distance of three centuries after 
its noble triumphs, to show its title deeds and its rights. It 
is put upon its defence, and asked for reasons and authority, — 
for its faith and its observances, — for its priesthood and its ordi- 
nances. The assaults come not from Rome alone. The battle- 
ments of Oxford frown upon its heresies, and forbid the banns 
of its alliance with the church. The warders upon her tow- 
ers rebuke its backslidings, and demand a surrender of its ban- 
ners and a renunciation of its errors. The blood of the mar- 
tyrs has been spilled in vain. The warnings of the prophets 
have been proclaimed in vain. The Taylors, the Cudworths, 
the Chillingworths, the Barrows, and the Clarkes, have been 
but blind leaders of the blind. The Puritans and the Covenan- 
ters, the Presbyterians and the Congregationalists, the Calvin- 
ists and the Lutherans, are to lay down their spiritual arms, 
and submit to the sentence of the Vatican, pronounced on the 
banks of the Isis. These, then, are not the days for scholars, 
and least of all, for American scholars, to relapse into indolent 
indifference, or to send forth doubtful responses from their ora- 
cles, inviting double interpretations. The contest is no long- 
er one with ignorance, or folly, or illiterate skepticism. The 
voices come from the seats of learning, from the deep studies of 
the closet, and from the bold speculations of gifted minds, ca- 
pable of dealing with human rights and human belief Learn- 
ing must now be met by learning, talent by talent, genius by 
genius. The demand is for logic and reasoning, and historical 
truth, and not for mere dogmas or authority. Vague decla- 



39 

magon will not suffice. There must be close, forcible, clear, 
cflVincing argumentation. 

I might add, if time would allow me, that there are other 
duties, devolving upon our scholars and statesmen, which 
come home, at this very moment, to our business and bosoms. 
To master the great questions, which now agitate, not merely 
our public councils, but the minds of the whole nation, upon 
topics of political economy, — of national rights and duties, — 
of constitutional obligations, — and of social interests, there are 
required all the resources of our knowledge and experience, 
the powers of eloquence, the lights of history, the most thor- 
ough investigations of the principles of international law. 
Have there been, and are there now brought to the task, free 
from the admixture of all extraneous and impure ingredients, 
the profound and honest judgments of our best scholars and 
statesmen ? Or have the passions and prejudices and interests 
of the day mingled in the strife, and disturbed all the just in- 
fluences, which ought to govern the discussions ? Has it been 
left to the great minds, and the enlarged experience, and the 
learned studies of our best men, to expound subjects, so full of 
delicate and difficult relations ? Have not rash men leaped 
into the arena, where angels might almost fear to tread, and 
eagerly sought to forestall the public judgment, by appeals to 
popular or local interests, or by lofty denunciations of all, who 
dared to promote calm inquiry, or the severe analysis of prin- 
ciples ? One should have thought, that the very gravity of 
such topics would have suppressed all arrogant assertion, and 
put to flight all dogmatism and theories ; that we should 
have consulted the oracles of other times, and sought instruc- 
tion from their wisdom ; that we should have invoked the 
aid of Grotius, and Puffendorf, and Vattel, and Burke, and 
Adam Smith, and the Authors of the Federalist, to enlighten 
our judgments, and purify our souls from debasing generalities. 
And, again, it is the duty of our scholars to elevate the 
standard of our national literature ; to engage it in themes more 
worthy of our destiny and rank in the republic of letters ; to 
lift it above the petty strifes, the wild fantasies, and the 



,y,n,S^i!\!i!^ Of" CONGRESS 



40 



• 



0J29 895 524 6 



vague novelties of the day. If we may not aspire to the 
highest efforts of human genius, to the sublimer walks oflpb- 
etry and philosophy, which dazzle by excess of light, we may 
yet seek a more elevated region, and breathe a purer air, than 
broods over the barren plains and misty valleys of common 
hfe. 

" Largior hie campos iEther, et lumine vestit 
Purpureo, — Solemque suam, sua sidera norant." 

Gentlemen, — I have done. As I close this discourse I 
cannot but turn my eyes to our venerable University, and ask, 
what she demands of us, her children, for the cause of 
religion, of letters, and of learning. She has stood forth 
for centuries, the glorious defender of truth, ^ — unshaken, 
— unseduced, — unterrified. She has nourished in her bo- 
som the wise, the eloquent, the renowned, the holy. In the 
days of her adversity, she has borne the brunt and burthen 
without fear or faltering. In the days of her prosperity, she 
has been content to cultivate learning, and promote the arts of 
peace. Shall not her children rise up, and call her blessed ! — 
At this very moment I seem to see the shades of her departed 
sons pass slowly before me, — the long procession of two hun- 
dred years. They point with deep thoughtfulness to the past, 
and with earnest solicitude to the future. Their silence, more 
expressive than any human speech, addresses to us, at once, 
the language of admonition, — of exhortation, — of encour- 
agement, — of entreaty. Methinks, as their shadowy forms 
glide away, the silence is for a moment broken, and I hear 
their united voices, in unearthly tones, utter, from beyond the 
grave, 

" O ! Socii, — Antiquam exquirite Matrem." 



jaMBBMHBaHMHBa 



A 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



029 895 524 6 • 



HoUinger Corp. 



